


Crush

by sara_holmes



Series: Puzzle Pieces [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dealing with Children, Domestic Avengers, First Love, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Young Avengers Mashup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 10:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: Tony and Steve notice that Arto is acting weird. And not just your regular run-of-the-mill, member-of-the-Avengers-family weird, either. Like,teenagerweird.Bucky and Clint are no help, seeing as their kid is barely one and is happily just gross rather than weird.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/gifts).



> This is for Liz, who still cheerleads me like a boss. She asked for Steve's reaction to Arto's first crush.
> 
> In Counterpart verse, this comes...when Arto is 16. A few years after 'Another Mountain to Climb' and a few months after 'Special Delivery.'
> 
> Blink and you'll miss it jokes stolen from Friends (b-a-b-y) and Brooklyn 99 (If anything happens I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.) Also an in-joke reference to Copperbadge's 'Leader of the Free World.'

“So, can I go and help Clint?”

Tony looks up with a frown; he and Arto are elbow deep in the engine for his new bike - the bike that it has taken them six months to persuade Steve to let them build - and suddenly the kid wants to bail?

“Clint is doing Young Avenger paperwork,” Tony says, critically eyeing the engine in front of him. “Torque wrench.”

Arto twirls the wrench around in his fingers in a way that is distressingly similar to how Bucky does his knives. “He says I can help.”

“You want to help with paperwork?” Tony says slowly, narrowing his eyes.

Arto scowls. His neck is going a tell-tale red though, so something’s clearly up with him. Open book, just like his dad. “ _God,_ I said so didn’t I?

“Don’t bring god into this, he’s not the one being weird,” Tony tells him, reaching over to take the wrench from him. “Why are you being weird?”

“ _You’re_ weird,” Arto replies, with all the withering indignation that a sixteen year old can muster. “You can’t call anyone weird.”

“I know, pot, kettle, right? But like recognizes like as well, so I’m gonna keep asking why you’re being weird. Oh god, you’re not about to go through more puberty are you?”

Arto’s face works like he’s trying to think of something to say. All he comes up with is a truly irritated ‘hrrrrn’ before stomping off. Tony bites back a grin and counts down silently in his head, and sure enough, as he hits zero there’s the sound of Arto stomping back. He walks behind Tony and then slumps into him, mashing his forehead between his shoulder blades and nearly pitching them both forwards into the bike.

Tony waits patiently, bracing himself. Jeez, the kid got heavy. “You wanna hug it out, Smart-Art?”

“Yeah,” Arto replies sullenly, but doesn’t move. Tony rolls his eyes and then shoves back at him so he’s got enough room to maneuver, twisting around and wrapping Arto’s ever-growing frame into a hug.

“You know I love you even if you are weird,” Tony says, and bites back a laugh at the way Arto just groans in response.

 

* * *

 

“Your child was being weird today,” Tony says as he knee walks up the bed. Propped up against the headboard, Steve doesn’t even bother to look up from his paperwork.

“How come when he’s being weird he’s my child and not our child?” Steve says somewhat absently.

“Don’t forget when he’s in trouble at school, he’s yours then, too,” Tony says, finally close enough to reach out and push the paperwork down. Steve lets him without too much of a fight, sighing and rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips.

“Weird, how?”

Tony gets comfy first, draping himself over Steve with his head propped on his chest, one leg thrown lazily over Steve’s thigh. “We were building the bike and he asked to go and help Clint with paperwork.”

“What?” Steve says. “He wanted to go and do _paperwork?”_

“Exactly,” Tony says. “You think he’s gonna give us another ‘this is why I should be allowed to be a Young Avenger even though we’ve been over it eight times’ speech?”

Steve groans. “I hope not,” he says. “He _knows_ the deal.”

“Yeah, supervised training when he’s twenty-one, yeah, everyone knows the deal, you are very insistently clear on the deal,” Tony says. Steve frowns at him and Tony leans up to kiss him. “Stop with the frown, I fully support you on the deal,” he murmurs against Steve’s mouth.

“Then stop acting like I’m the tyrant parent here,” Steve says, but he does kiss Tony back.

“So what do we do?” Tony asks, settling back down at Steve’s side.

“He’s sixteen, he’s weird by definition,” Steve yawns, his hand settling on Tony’s side. “Just let him do what he’s going to do, keep an eye on him.”

Tony lifts his head, raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Then if he carries on being weird, we talk to him.”

Tony waits it out.

“Then if he carries on being weird, corner Peter and ask him what’s going on.”

Tony grins. “There it is,” he says. “You’re condoning harassing his friends, Steve? That’s unethical.”

“No, I’ll get you to harass his friends,” Steve says, not sounding remotely troubled. “Besides, Peter has a crush on you a mile wide. He’ll tell you anything.”

“He just appreciates my intellect,” Tony yawns. “Kid’s a genius.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” Steve shrugs.

“True,” Tony concedes. “Heaven forbid you’re ever wrong.”

Steve replies by rolling Tony over onto his back, pinning him down and fixing him with a pointed look.

“Oh no,” Tony deadpans. “Steve is about to shut me up with sex, however shall I cope.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Steve says, and leans down to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

Much to Tony’s concern, Arto carries on being _weird_. He’s glued to his phone, harasses Clint about the Young Avengers, slinks off from conversations and seems as irritable as he was eighteen months ago when hormones started being a thing.

It’s not just the attitude though; he’s also edging back into clingy territory, angling after hugs and wanting to be in Steve’s pocket. It drives Tony mad because it's not consistent, either. When he’s not being surly and acting like the world is out to get him, he’s pretty chirpy and bright.

Tony is still highly suspicious. He thinks about using Jarvis to snoop, or calling Peter or Omari to get intel, but decides that he’s going to show personal growth and respect for his son’s boundaries and does neither. Besides, Steve will probably cave soon anyway so then he’ll do the snooping and won’t be able to yell at Tony for it.

He _does_ call Arto out on being weird once or twice, but all he gets is eye rolls or the Teenage Stare, the one that roughly translates as _‘ugh you’re old and you don’t understand me.’_ When he points out that he was young once too, the Teenage Stare just intensifies.

If only children came with a manual, this whole parenting thing would be a butt-load easier.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t even want to join in, I just want to watch.”

“You’re not allowed, I’m not risking pissing Steve off-”

“He said I’m not allowed to _be_ a Young Avenger not that I can’t _watch_ the Young Avengers-”

“Arto, you’re killing me here.”

“ _Please,_ Clint.”

“No.”

“If you loved me you’d let me.”

“Stop being an asshole, you’re going to get us into trouble-”

Tony only hears a few seconds of conversation in the time it takes for him to walk from the top of the stairs to the kitchen, but it’s definitely enough to pique his interest. He wanders into the kitchen and just as he predicted it would, the conversation stops dead. Clint and Arto both turn in impressive synchronicity to look right at him; Arto folds his arms over his chest and glares down at the tabletop. Clint hitches baby Anna up and grimaces as she shoves spit-covered fists into his face.

“This sounds fun,” Tony says, heading towards the coffee maker. “And by fun I think I mean lucky that I overheard this and not Steve, because you know the deal with the Young Avengers, Art-”

“I don’t want to be a Young Avenger!” Arto yells and storms off without saying anything else. Clint and Tony look at each other for a moment, until they hear his footsteps fade.

“So, what was that about?” Tony asks.

“I have no idea,” Clint says, gently guiding one of Anna’s hands down, only for the other one to come up as if they’re on some sort of levered mechanism. He pushes that down and then gives up when the other comes back up and grabs at his cheek.

“He’s being weird,” Tony says.

“I know, right?!” Clint says. Anna squeals in response and leans forwards so her face is buried in Clint’s neck; he hastily brings his other hand up to steady her. “Yes, thank you for kisses, that’s great.”

“Well if my kid is being weird, yours is being gross,” Tony observes.

“She’s learned how to kiss,” Clint explains. “Which for her is just mashing her face against whatever she wants to kiss until it kisses back. Works with me and Buck, not so much with the couch or her Bucky Bear.”

“You do not know how glad I am that I got the ready-made six-year-old,” Tony says.

“Yeah, you dodged a pretty gross bullet there,” Clint sighs. “Though it’s not all bad. Right, I gotta go sign the Avengerlings in. Dammit, whose idea was it to put me in charge, I hate being in charge.”

“You love it,” Tony says dismissively. “Your own bunch of wannabe superheroes to train as you see fit? You’re like the puppet-master.”

“I thought that’d be more up your street.”

“I don’t need to be a superhero puppet-master, I’m the Illuminati,” Tony says. “Keep Arto out of the training room, please?”

“You are not the Illuminati,” Clint says, and holds Anna out. “Here.”

“I’m not qualified for babies!” Tony protests, but Clint is pressing her forwards and while Tony doesn’t think he’d deliberately drop Anna, the risk of accidental droppage is probably pretty high. With that in mind he takes her, though does hold her out away from his body a little.

“You’ll be fine,” Clint says, dropping a kiss to Anna’s head. “Bucky’ll be here in like ten, just keep her alive until then.”

“I did not sign up for this!” Tony shouts but Clint is already on his way out. “Find out why Arto is being weird!”   

“Yep!” Clint shouts back and then he’s gone and Tony is left holding Anna up, looking at her with a resigned expression on his face as she kicks her feet and tries to jam her entire first into her mouth, grey eyes on Tony’s.

“Maybe I’ll keep you,” he says to Anna. “You’re not hormonal and weird.”

Anna reaches for him and he sighs and pulls her in. She babbles in delight, grabbing hold of his hair with chubby fists and pressing her mouth to his chin. “Yeah, okay,” Tony says, and hitches her up, a smile hitching the corner of his mouth. “Kisses, I gottit. Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony looks up from his phone as Steve nudges him; for a moment he thinks that Steve is going to try and draw his attention to some trivial plot point on the film that no-one is even watching anymore, but Steve instead nods over at Arto.

Arto is hunched so low down in the armchair that his knees are almost at his chin, his phone held literally two inches away from his nose.

“He’s been texting since the film started,” Steve whispers. There’s no need, really; between the explosions on the film, Natasha and Sam talking, and Anna babbling there’s plenty of cover.

“So what? So have I,” Tony replies.

“Yeah but that’s normal for you,” Steve says. “Not for him.”

“We have established he’s being weird, leave him to it,” Tony says.

“No, that’s now two weeks of weirdness, I’m intervening,” Steve says, and then raises his voice. “Hey Arto, who’re you texting?”

“GO AWAY,” Arto shouts back, slumping down even further into his chair.

“I know,” Natasha sing-songs and Arto makes a sound not dissimilar to a growl, getting up and stalking away, his face bright red. Steve watches him go, mouth hanging open until Clint throws a piece of popcorn into it.

Steve spits out the popcorn. “Well, shit,” he says, dropping his hands from where he was ready to fend off any more popcorn projectiles. “Tony, go get him back.”

“What?” Tony says, “You pissed him off, why do I have to go?”

“I’ll go,” Bucky says, even though he’s sprawled out on his back on the couch with his head in Clint’s lap, Anna sitting on his chest, his hands holding her steady. “Shall we go, baby?”

“Leave him alone,” Natasha says. “He’s fine.”

Tony looks to Natasha. “What do you know that we don’t know?”

“Oh, come on. He’s sixteen. He’s being secretive. He’s texting non-stop. What do you think is going on? And no, he’s not doing drugs or drinking or being a secret vigilante by night. It’s the _other_ option.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Steve curses, Clint manages a dramatic _‘nooo’,_ Bucky snorts with laughter and Tony shuts his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples.

“So, he’s got a crush,” he says, hoping he sounds calm and nonchalant rather than like he needs to go and check on Arto right-this-moment-now. “Who?”

“If you can’t work it out then you don’t deserve to know.”

“One of the Young Avengers,” Clint blurts out, flapping a hand in Tony and Steve’s direction. “That’s why he keeps trying to come and watch training!”

“Creeper,” Bucky comments, and Clint smacks his shoulder.

“He is not a creeper, he’s in love.”

“He’s got a _crush_ ,” Tony corrects loudly. “Oh christ.”

“So, Better Hawkeye, Magic Maximoff,  Speedy Maximoff or Baby Marvel?” Sam says. “My money is on Speedy Maximoff.”

“I’ll take Magic Maximoff,” Bucky says. “Fifty bucks.”

Steve still hasn’t said a word since his initial four-letter outburst. He’s staring at Natasha with his mouth hanging slightly open again. Clint’s hand edges back towards the popcorn and Bucky firmly pushes it back down.

“Steve?” Bucky calls. “You okay, pal?”

“He can’t have a crush,” Steve says, sounding somewhere between perplexed and distraught. “He’s - he’s-”

“He’s sixteen, honey,” Tony says, reaching back and patting Steve’s cheek. “We’re lucky we avoided it for this long.”

“Have fun with that,” Bucky calls cheerfully.

“You have a child too,” Steve points out, somewhat resentfully. “You will have to deal with this at some point.”

“Yeah in like fifteen years,” Bucky says, while Clint shakes his head and says, “Never.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the day after the revelations during movie night, and Steve and Tony are having a silent _‘no, you ask him’_ staring match over the kitchen counter as Arto sprawls on the couch, eating his way through a plate full of cream cheese bagels. Tony thinks Steve is just about to give in but then a spanner is thrown in the metaphorical works as Jarvis simply says, “Sir, the Young Avengers are on the way up.”

Tony shakes his head violently, Steve winces and Arto sits bolt upright, knocking his breakfast to the floor, a fraction of a second before he elevator dings merrily open, spilling Clint and his brood of baby superheroes out into the communal floor.

Tony waves at them somewhat manically, biting down on the urge to laugh at Arto, who looks very much like a deer caught in the headlights as everyone pours in. Kate Bishop - the Better Hawkeye - is first, all long glossy hair and designer purple shades, bow in hand and smile on her face. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff come next, side-by-side as always, bickering about god knows what. Wanda is so precious that Tony feels the need to adopt her stat, and Pietro is both hilarious and obnoxious, usually leaning more towards the latter. Finally, Kamala Khan trips out, nineteen and barely old or sensible enough to be a Young Avenger, but with a heart of gold. Actually, scrap the Magic Maximoff, Tony would adopt Kamala in a heartbeat. You know, if she didn’t have a perfectly good family already.

Arto somehow manages to get across the room without anyone noticing, skulking behind Tony with his cheeks bright red. Actually, scratch adopting any more wayward powered-up children, this one is plenty enough.

“Hi, hi,” Clint says, shoving Kamala in. “I’m sorry, they need feeding before we do anymore, they’re unbearable when they need food. Smol Avengers, you know Tony and Steve, and that over there is Arto.”

Arto goes even redder. Tony elbows him and he waves without looking up.

“We know, we’ve met Arto,” Pietro says with an epic eye-roll. “Is your memory failing you, old man?”

“Make that joke when Bucky is around, I dare you,” Clint points at Pietro. “And Kamala hasn’t met Arto properly, so you can stick it.”

“Hey, Arto,” Wanda says kindly as Pietro and Clint carry on arguing. “How’re you?”

Arto nods. “Fine,” he says and his voice cracks around the world. He looks absolutely mortified. “Yeah,” he says louder. “Fine, thanks.”

Oh god. Tony thinks he might die of embarrassment on Arto’s behalf. It’s not something Tony usually feels so it’s both unwelcome and downright _excruciating_. He looks up at Steve, who is watching Arto carefully, looking like he’s itching to walk over and hug him. God, Tony hopes he doesn’t, Arto _will_ die of embarassment if Steve does, he’s sure of it.

Clint is busy raiding the fridge with Kate and Pietro leaning over his shoulders to peer inside. Kamala is sitting at the counter and staring at Tony in awe, the way Peter used to do when he first started coming over. Tony raises a brow at her and she blushes but smiles, obviously caught out but not minding.

“How’s school?” Wanda asks Arto, and Tony watches as Arto tries to regain some composure.

“Good,” Arto says. “Being doing an art project, and I’ve been accepted on a mechanics module, so I can do that as well as the normal stuff. Like normal maths. And like, history and stuff.”

“That’s great!” Wanda says and Arto smiles back at her, tentative but proud. He opens his mouth to say something back but he’s left too large a gap after her response and she’s already turned away and is talking to Kate, and Arto is back to looking like a very desperate fish out of water.

“Remember you’ve got to call Peter before ten if you want him to come over,” Tony says. Arto blinks at him for a moment and then it clicks that Tony is giving him an out. He nods quickly and then he’s gone, heading for the stairs and nearly colliding with Bucky as they cross paths in the doorway.

“Whoa, watch it, Short-Round,” Bucky calls, holding Anna in the crook of his arm. He looks up and stops dead, looking warily at the crowded kitchen.

“Why are there Small Avengers everywhere, and why is Arto running away from them?”

Tony gives him a _look._ “Arto went to call Peter,” he says, so that the rest of the kids hear it. He glares at Bucky who rolls his eyes and walks over to hand Anna to Clint.

“I’m still on Smol Avengers clock,” Clint protests, but takes her anyway. Kate and Pietro both immediately crowd around, Pietro stroking the back of Anna’s hand with his finger and grinning with delight as she grasps hold. Kamala stays on her seat, blushing some more as Steve strikes up friendly conversation. He glances over to Tony with a meaningful look that Tony interprets as _‘go and find our son and check he’s not crying in a corner somewhere.’_

Tony goes, and finds Arto lying on his bed with his phone in hand, looking suspiciously teary-eyed. Heart breaking a little, Tony knocks on the door with his knuckles, edging in apologetically.

“I’m fine,” Arto says loudly, and then his bottom lip wobbles. “How come I still don’t know how to talk to people properly?”

Tony feels his heart break a lot, at that. “Because you have one father who is hyper-verbal, one who can’t deal with serious conversations to save his life, and you spent the first six years of your life with no-one but Hydra scientists to talk to. Oh, and your best friend is practically mute and your other best friend is equally as socially awkward as you?”

Arto throws up an arm to cover his eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not,” Tony says, and pauses. “Wanna hug it out?”

Arto nods without uncovering his eyes and Tony walks over to sit on the edge of the bed. Arto rolls over and buries his face in Tony’s hip, snaking an arm around his middle.

“You’ll be okay,” Tony says, running his fingers through Arto’s hair. “I promise, most sixteen year olds go through the same, everyone finds it hard to talk to girls, or guys-”

“Just because everyone else in the house is gay doesn’t mean I am,” Arto says loudly, and then, “Sorry.”

“Oh thank god, then it’s not Pietro you have a crush on,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, he’s too obnoxious for my tastes.”

“Have you met Dad?”

“Excuse you, your Dad is not obnoxious, he’s just stubborn.”

“Same difference,” Arto huffs, and finally open his eyes. “If this is normal, why does it suck so much?”

“Normal doesn’t mean easy,” Tony tells him. “You know, I can help. I used to be renowned for my skills with women, before Steve turned me into a boring married soccer-dad.”

“God, you’re gross, I don’t want girl advice from you,” Arto says, wrinkling his nose.

“I can _guarantee_ I’m your best option,” Tony says.

“Nu-uh,” Arto says, voice muffled. “I’d rather ask Bucky.”

“Well, shit,” Tony says, put-out, and Arto hides a grin in his hip.

 

* * *

 

“So did you ask him who it was?” Steve asks that night as they’re getting ready for bed, side by side in their bathroom and brushing their teeth, elbows knocking.

“No,” Tony says, through a mouthful of foam. “He was too busy being tragic and insulting me, so I didn’t bother. Though he did say that he’s not gay, so that rules out Pietro.”

“Insulting you?” Steve asks.

“Yeah!” Tony says indignant all over again. “He told me he’d rather ask Bucky for girl advice than talk to me!”

Steve hums at that, nodding. “Yeah, I’d probably ask Bucky, too.”

Tony tosses his toothbrush back onto the side and glares at Steve, swiping a towel as he stalks out of the bathroom. “That’s sleeping on the couch talk, Rogers.”

“Tony, wait,” Steve says, but the asshole is starting to laugh.

“Couch,” Tony shouts back over his shoulder, but five minutes later, when Steve is sliding into bed behind him and kissing his shoulder, mouth still curved in a smile, Tony decides to be the bigger person and doesn’t kick him out.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Arto is awful. He’s snotty and rude and upsets Anna at breakfast by shouting at Steve, and then storms off in a huff. Steve looks heavenward and visibly counts to ten, and Tony leans across the table, head in his hands. He peers up across at Clint, Bucky and Anna, looks to Sam and Rhodey and then finally at Nat.

“Nat?” he says, mentally telling his ego to stop protesting. “Please help.”

Nat closes her magazine, walks over to take Anna from Clint. “I’m borrowing this,” she says, smiling at Anna and brushing their noses together. “Come on baby, let’s go and sort him out.”

Bucky stares after her, held in place by Clint leaning on his knees. “Why is she taking my baby to deal with a stroppy teenager?” he demands. “I object.”

“Let it happen, Barnes,” Tony says. “She’ll be fine.”

“If anything happens to my baby, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself,” Bucky says, and Clint pats his knee.

“We know,” he says. “The whole of New York knows your first port of call is murder when it comes to protecting the baby.”

“Good,” Bucky says grumpily.

Steve looks at Tony. “We weren’t ever this bad with Arto, right? Tell me I wasn’t that bad.”

“No,” Tony says. “You are definitely Captain Overprotective, but Buckaroo here is in a league of his own.”

The merits of being overprotective are loudly discussed for quite some time, the conversation only stopping when Nat returns, Anna thankfully unharmed on her hip. Bucky makes a pleading noise and holds his arms out, and Natasha obliges and hands Anna straight back over.

“He likes Kate, Kate doesn’t even notice him, the world is unjust and his parents are ruining his life,” she says.

Steve rears back, mouth falling open. Tony feels a similar wave of indignation, though Steve is the more vocal one about it.

“We are not!”

“Of course you are,” Natasha says. “He’s sixteen, your job is to let him think that you’re ruining his life.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Steve says, but Natasha just shakes her head.

“Steve, don’t,” she says. “You can’t do anything.”

“The hell I can’t,” Steve says. “He’s my son, I can fix this.”

Tony isn’t so sure; he’s still sort of butthurt by Arto saying that he’d rather go to Bucky than him, but he kind of senses that that is how it’s going to go with things like this. Taking a back seat for once is not something he wants to do, but he kind of gets it.

Steve, decidedly, does not. He ignores Natasha and leaves the room, heading up to talk to Arto. Natasha looks at Tony, wearily. “Can’t you at least try and stop him from interfering?”

“Try and stop Steve Rogers doing something he’s determined to do?” Tony says. “I don’t have a suit on me, so wrestling him into submission is out.”

“Should have distracted him by touching his junk,” Bucky shrugs. “That’s your best bet.”

“Stop, not in front of the b-a-b-y,” Clint hisses, covering Anna’s ears with his hands. Tony chokes on his coffee and Natasha fixes Clint with a look, half despairing and half amused.

“Did you just self-censor the word _baby?_ ”

Clint frowns and then he drops his hands. “Shit, I was meant to censor sex.”

“You didn’t even say sex first time round!” Bucky says. “Oh my god, you’re hopeless.”

Ten minutes later, and Steve stomps back into the communal area and pulls a beer out of the fridge, scowling.

“He told me to fuck off so I grounded him for two days,” he says shortly.

“Oh my god, you were gone for ten minutes,” Tony says. “How?”

“Back off, alright,” Steve says. “He’s being unreasonable.”

There’s a tense silence, and then Bucky is the one to break it, by lifting Anna up and looking her right in the eye. “You are never allowed to think about boys or girls, not ever,” he says solemnly, and Tony, Clint and Natasha all bite down on laughter as Anna smiles and kicks her feet happily, none the wiser.

 

* * *

 

Avenger life calls, and Steve and Bucky are both called away to deal with some sort of AIM related mess on the West Coast. Tony is left in charge, and so makes the call to take Arto out for lunch on the second day of his grounding, though doesn’t technically undermine Steve because he says that Peter is definitely not allowed to come. Normally, Arto is in a phase of not wanting to go anywhere without Peter or Omari with him, but he seems to realize that this is either a compromise, or a get-out-of-jail free card, so he takes it. They go to Arto’s favorite place, and Tony lets him order three platters of pancakes.

“Steve’s a jerk,” Arto says moodily as he flicks at the straw in his glass, watching it spin around.

“Watch it,” Tony warns. “That’s my husband you’re talking about. And a man who loves you very much, so stow the attitude.”

“He wants to know _everything_ ,” Arto says.

“Of course he does, he wants to make everything okay for you, he would literally break the universe for you if it made you feel better, and he feels shitty that he can’t. Actually, scratch that, I don’t think he’s realized that he can’t fix this one, no matter how much he wants to.”

Arto’s face falls at that. “He can’t fix it, though, can he?” he says quietly, like that’s only just occurred to him.

“No, not this time,” Tony says. “That’s for you to work out.”

Arto nods, though doesn’t look happy about it. “She doesn’t even know who I am,” he suddenly says, full of teenage hormonal angst. Tony resists the urge to point out that that is rather over the top. He is half Stark, after all. Over the top is like default setting.

“Okay,” Tony says, and takes off his sunglasses. “You are a great kid, Art. But we need to level honestly about this. How old is Kate?”

“Twenty,” Arto says.

“So the first thing you need to know that the age of consent in New York is seventeen,” Tony says. “That means that seeing as you are under that age, anyone sleeping with you could be prosecuted.”

Arto rears back, looking horrified. “I don’t want to sleep with her!” he says. “That’s _gross._ ”

“Okay, good,” Tony says, holding up his hands, a little alarmed at Arto’s vehement reaction. “Calm down.”

“Sex is gross,” Arto mutters again, red in the face. “I don’t want - I just want to like, talk to her. And maybe. I don’t know.”

“You adorable, tragic, little meatball, you’re just like your Dad,” Tony sighs, and ignores Arto’s glower. “Okay, second thing you need to know. When you’re younger, age gaps are a big deal.”

“You and Steve are like, thirteen years apart,” Arto points out.

“Yeah I know, when you’re older it’s not - okay. Right. When you’re younger, you still have a lot to learn. Even though you think you know everything, you don’t. You only have your years’ worth of experience and knowledge, right? So for someone even a few years older, they’ve got way more experience and knowledge. It’s a power differential, kiddo, and that’s not okay. When you hit your mid-twenties it’s not such a big deal because you’ve done your growing up. There’s no power differential because you’re both grown up.”

Arto stares hard at his pancakes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “It sucks, kiddo. But Kate is a different age bracket than you, which means it’s a no go. By all means, think that she’s pretty, but don’t beat yourself up over it. And also, I am not having a kid of mine marry a Hawkeye. I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”

Arto just fixes him with a withering look. “You’re so dumb,” he says.

“I know,” Tony says, and slips his sunglasses back on, pleased that Arto at least sounds like himself again. “Eat your pancakes. They’ll heal your broken heart.”

“So dumb,” Arto mutters, but he does.

 

* * *

 

When Steve gets back, he doesn’t even bother going to debrief. He marches straight into the tower, still suited up, and beelines straight across the workshop towards Tony.

“Where is he?” he asks without preamble, pulling his helmet off and leaving his hair sticking up every which way. “I’ve been thinking about it since I went, and I can’t just let him go on feeling awful about it-”

“Hey, he’s fine, calm down,” Tony says, pushing up his welding goggles. “He’s okay.”

“What?” Steve says, taken aback. “He’s okay?”

“Come on,” Tony says. “You’ll see.”

He takes Steve to the conference floor, and steps out of the elevator and heads towards the landing between the two staircases. It appears deserted, and Steve frowns irritably at him, but Tony holds up a hand in a gesture to wait.

A few seconds pass, and then from somewhere above them there’s a thud and a scream. Tony waits it out, and sure enough there’s more screaming and banging and then Arto and Peter appear, sliding down the staircase while both sitting on a wheel-less skateboard, clutching hold of each other.

“Hi Dad!” Arto shouts before momentum sends them sliding across the landing and vanishing down the next set of stairs at an alarming sideways angle.

“See, he’s fine,” Tony says, spreading his arms expansively.

“He’s skateboarding down the stairs,” Steve says, blinking at the space where Arto and Peter just vanished.

“Yeah, while the Young Avengers are in training,” Tony points out. “He’s not moping or texting or lurking.”

“He’s going to break his neck.”

“But he’s not moping or texting or lurking,” Tony repeats. “I can’t do anything about his terrible sense of self-preservation or skewed risk analysis.”

“Peter’s aunt will kill us both if he gets hurt,” Steve mutters, and then turns to pull Tony into a rib-squashing hug. “How did you get him to stop moping?”

“Took him for pancakes,” Tony shrugs, leaning back and smoothing his hands over Steve’s armour-clad shoulders. “I’m sorry, but the only way you could fix this one was by backing off.”

“I feel like I’m - I’m letting him down when I back off,” Steve admits.

“You’re just pissing him off when you don’t,” Tony says. “You two are too stubborn to go head to head, it just ends up in manly posturing and shouting.”

Steve sighs. “I didn’t do too well with this one, huh?”

“It’s okay,” Tony assures him. “Luckily for you, I was here to step up in magnificent style.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Wow.”

Tony grins. “Now, do we go and stop them stair-surfing, or do we do that reprehensible parent thing where you ignore something for your own sanity?”

Steve sighs. “We should probably stop it.”

“But then he might start moping over Better-Hawkeye again,” Tony says. “Please, no more of the moping. I can’t take any more moping, or any more of him being weird.”

Steve hums at that. “Alright. Shall we go peel me out of this suit instead?”

Tony laughs. “Now you’re talking,” he says. “Just promise me you won’t try and interfere with Arto and his teenage angst again.”

“No can do,” Steve says ruefully. “But I’m done for at least a little while.”

Tony thinks it over. “I’ll take it,” he says, and pulls Steve in for a kiss.


End file.
